


You (still) Smell Like Trash

by BoxWineConfessions



Series: You smell like trash [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 19 year old Pidge, 21 year old Keith, Angst, F/M, Galra Keith, Kidge Week 2016, Orgasm Denial, Pegging, aged up from cannon, post-cannon, weird alien sex toys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 01:01:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8823751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BoxWineConfessions/pseuds/BoxWineConfessions
Summary: It's been three years since Pidge met a badly dressed smelly guy out in the desert. They've almost gotten each other killed numerous times, and neither of them exactly understand why they've stuck together through it all. It might because despite everything, they make an okay team.





	1. Burn

**Author's Note:**

> So, this serves as a (very) loose sequel to "You Smell Like Trash". TBH I wrote 4 or 5 Kidge week prompts when I had a few days off in October, and forgot about them until I saw the prompts pop up on my dash!

Pidge rakes her blunt short clipped nails down his sides and curves round so she can dig them deep into the smouldering ember red skin of his bottom. 

 

He doesn’t have to be able to see to realize that his skin must match the color of his lion right now. He can feel it in the way a touch that would normally gain minimal reaction, sets his skin on fire and pulls him to the edge of need and pain. He doesn’t have to be able to see to imagine her nails dotted with chipped green polish applied by Lance weeks ago. He can feel with increasing sting the way they dig into his skin and refuse to let go. 

 

He knows he could end all of this relentless teasing right now if he just said the word, but rarely does he ever have this level of control when they’re together. Yes, even now, somehow with his eyes covered with an impromptu blindfold, and Pidge spanking him until his skin is raw he’s still somehow got a shred of control left, and he’s going to enjoy it while it lasts. 

 

Usually pride gets the better of him and he doesn’t come to her until his eyes are fully dilated into pupil-less yellow orbs and his skin is completely gray lavender. Even then, he waits in his room until she notices he’s not at dinner, or training, or misses their near nightly ritual of sitting in their pajamas and watching the stars in the near desolate starboard end of the ship until they finally feel tired. 

 

He knows that she makes him wait too. She tracks his cycle on her calendar, and she can predict it not to the day now, but within two or three hours. Nevertheless, she makes him wait until his pants are damp and he can’t hold a single coherent thought in his head. 

 

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy it. 

 

She leans forward pushing the toy that she so artfully wielded deeper inside. 

 

He bites his lower lip, to keep from making more of those noises.

 

“Keith,” her voice is dark and unamused, like she’s just caught Lance going through her Mp3 collection and he found the pop music. The interruption makes him realize that the tense and heavy silence of their session had been interrupted by quivering high pitched noises. 

 

They’d been coming from him. 

 

It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy it. It’s just that, when she has him like this, spread wide and straining.  When he knows he’s hours away from a two or three day heat that will leave him hot and aching for something that only she can provide, he finds it irksome. She’ll never need him the same way that he needs her. 

 

“You almost never come see me before your heat starts.” He can feel her thumb slick with lube touch lightly at his stretched rim. “We never have time for anything when you’re not in heat.” It’s true. Defending the universe means they have to make time. “How can you not expect me to have a little fun with you?” 

 

“Implying you don’t pull this kind of shit during my heat too.”  It’s not a complete lie. When she finally seeks him out she usually gives him exactly what he wants the first time around: fingers, toys, her mouth, until he’s spent and sated if not but for a moment. The subsequent times however… 

 

They tend to occur a lot like this, with him either bound or blindfolded, or if she was feeling particularly sadistic, both. Of course, there’s lots and lots of teasing. 

 

That remark earns him a few more smacks to each cheek. To make matters worse, she pulls back as she wails on his oversensitive skin, pulling the strap on on the wrong direction, away from his body.

 

But the teasing, gives him strength. Whenever he’s at his most vulnerable she’s able to help him wrestle the last bit of control out, so that he’s begging her not because purely because of his physiological state, but because of her slow, careful, ruinous actions. 

 

Her hand snakes between his spread thighs and she playfully pinches at the skin there. “You’re turning purple.” He shudders when her fingers trace the tightly pulled skin of his sac and the root of his dick. 

 

Keith rises up slightly on his hands and turns to shoot her a dagger laden glare. Except, oh yeah, there’s the dark green sash of a long discarded Altean robe effectively blocking out his vision. “No shit. That’s what happens every time.” 

 

It’s gonna get him smacked again. 

 

It’s exactly what he wants...Other than maybe, just maybe Pidge actually getting to it and fucking him senseless. 

 

“Yeah.” To his surprise she doesn’t smack him again. Her hands shift from his abused ass to his hips and her nails sink back in. She’s actually moving now, in slow but maddening thrusts. “But I rarely see it happen.” She jerks her hips forward in one particularly brutal and out of sync thrust and pulls a long groan from within. “It’s cute.” 

 

He wants to argue, and tell her that it is not cute. But she’s finally fucking him now with long deep thrusts that hit his prostate and make him feel like maybe, just maybe she’s going to let him come. It’s hard to say if the mercy orgasm still applies considering he’s not fully shifted yet, but he’s not doing anything of his own volition that will make her stop. 

 

Before he can process what’s going on, she’s pulling him upward so that all of his weight is on his knees and his back is pressed up against her chest. It used to bother him, how this little slip of a person who was barely a buck fifteen soaking wet could manhandle him. Then he experienced her breaking up a fight between himself and Lance. Saw her kick Shiro’s feet out from under him during hand to hand. He still took her out relatively easily, but it’s little things like that that make him realize that being on the receiving end of this kind of manhandling, was much better than getting a knuckle sandwich ala Pidge. 

 

“Do you wanna come?” she breathes hotly into his ear before latching onto his earlobe and sucking hard. She does the same to his neck and makes sure to leave dark red black bruises that will fade into the purple of his skin when he’s fully transformed anyway. 

 

No, the panting and the moaning and the fact that he feels soaked between his legs right now. It’s all for nothing. But his whole world is reduced to the place where Pidge is joined to him with the toy, and his neglected cock, and he can’t handle fighting it anymore. So he, quite pathetically chokes out, “Yes, please Pidge,” like he’s practiced it from one of those bootleg tapes of Lance’s that he’s definitely never watched ever. 

 

Wordlessly she twists his hand around his back and traces the scarred sigil on his hand. The one that said  _ restraint _ . The one that, despite having burned in his skin for years now, he’s never quite fully grasped.  _ Fuck _ that means she’s probably gonna make him wait. 

 

She releases his neck and breathes into his ear, “Okay. I wanna see you though.” 

 

This time when she pulls back and out, he doesn’t groan. Doesn’t complain or try to elicit more smacks or pinches from Pidge for the sake of getting something. He knows exactly what she wants and plans on providing it for her. Immediately he turns over onto his back and pulls his legs up towards his stomach.

 

“You can touch yourself,” she says as if it’s a suggestion as she slides back in. Keith might have been a Garrison drop out, but he knows an order when he hears one. 

 

No sooner than he gets his hand wrapped around himself, he’s interrupted by the sound of  _ beep beep beep _ and he knows it's her comm because he turned his off as soon as she let him into her room. 

 

He can barely get a single pump in before she’s grabbing his wrist and making him stop. “Wanna see you,” she says, and he can feel her shift and move for the communicator. 

 

“Hello?” 

 

He’s been barred from touching himself, but apparently she can keep tormenting him while she’s talking. “Oh, Hunk.” Her hands rake down his chest at the exact same moment in a combination of dare and reminder. “I just woke up from a nap, that’s all.” 

 

Nap? That’s rich. People don’t sound slightly out of breath when they wake up from a nap. 

“Yeah, I guess I can go over your code. You’re the master debugger though.” 

 

In that moment, he’s thankful for the blindfold. He can feel the stinging pinprick of tears at the corner of his eyes, because she’s been teasing him for so long. It would take next to nothing to come right now, and she won’t even give him that.

 

“Hm,” the bed dips and Pidge’s form is all but draped across him. She reaches for something over his head, and then she retracts. He can hear nothing but the sound of furious typing. “Yeah, I’m still here.” As if to solidify what she’s just said into her comm, he can feel her fingers at his left nipple. They pinch without warning or preamble. Hard.

 

At this point, that’s all it takes for him to twist and writhe into the bed. He can’t stop the undignified noises that come from his mouth, never mind the fact that is friend is on the line and might be able to hear. 

 

“No. But you know my room gets bad reception.” 

 

“Quiet,” she hisses in a low whisper that cannot be picked up by the comm. Or, she has it muted. 

 

“Pidge,” he tries to keep his voice at a whisper, but it comes out as a desperate whine instead, and yeah, he really hopes she has it muted. 

 

“If you keep  _ quiet.  _ I can’t keep the channel muted.” 

 

It’s bullshit, but he knows better than to argue. The sound of typing fills the room again, but this time the pace is slowed. She’s doing it one handed. The other, teases his long neglected cock. She runs a single digit from the root to the tip and back again.  

 

“Not being super familiar with what you’re trying to do here,” she starts again with slow shallow thrusts. She’s going to kill him. “And none of this is code is commented on.” Then her digit is replaced by a closed fist around his length, and oh god it’s somehow worse than being made to wait. He’s not sure if he can keep quiet. 

 

“If I had to guess,” the thrusts slow for a moment and he doesn’t have to have vision to feel her eyes on him, hot and irritated. “Keith, cover your mouth.” 

 

He does as he’s told, and all but bites down on the skin between his thumb and forefinger. The thrusts return, as does the frantic, one handed typing. 

 

“The problem is with the input around line 1275.” 

 

Each thrust tugs at him from inside. His body, over sensitive and over toyed with screams at him to come...but he can’t quite discern if he’s been given permission. He can tell that his sex addled brain is succumbing to the galra heat because he actually wants to please Pidge, his alpha. 

 

“Yeah, I’m just gonna take out the piped text and fix this. Call you back.” 

 

Her hands are back on his thighs pushing them back into his chest. Her pace is brutal, and unlike anything she’s given him thus far. 

 

“Touch yourself.” 

 

He can barely get two thrusts in before he’s coming into his hand and onto his chest. The pinprick tears that threatened to well up into actual tears while she was teasing crest against his eyelids. Pride be damned, he can’t help it because Pidge is too much and not enough, always. 

 

It takes a moment for him to come back to reality. Before he can quite grasp what’s going on, Pidge has pulled the robe sash off of his eyes, and is cradling his head against her side. “You’re really purple now.” she mutters into the top of his hair. It tickles. 

 

The sound of typing floods his ears again, and a frown pulls at the corners of his mouth.  Keith is used to a certain level of aftercare when they’re done. A thick orange salve applied to the reddened parts of his skin, or another toy to keep him worked open until he eventually and inevitably needs Pidge again. 

 

“Hey,” her hands leave the keyboard and she turns to him. The laptop gets jostled between their laps as he leans into the touch. “You okay?” 

 

Now that the blindfold is gone, and he can really see her...brown eyes against the harsh blue lighting of her laptop, white glare in her glasses lens, he feels vulnerable. More so than he ever does when he’s spread wide beneath her. He wants to say something, what exactly, he’s not sure other than it’s been drying up on his tongue for some time now. 

 

“Quiznak I’m stupid,” she says as she shakes her head. She closes the laptop and snakes both arms around him this time. “You came to me early. You must’ve really needed me.” 

 

“Um,” he doesn’t know what to say, other than she’s right, and he still doesn’t want to confirm it, even after countless sessions and missions. There’s still something about Pidge that strikes a raw and exposed nerve within him, even though he fights it day in and day out. Whereas before he could be reckless, he has no room for errors. “Yeah,” he sinks into the touch. 

 

“Keith,” she nudges his shoulder with her nose, and he knows it's her way of pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose without breaking contact. “I wish I could be the kind of person who could give you what you need automatically. Without you even having to say it.” There’s a long pause as she sighs into his shoulder. “I’m not though. This morning I left the beverage maker on and it made 45 servings of tea before I remembered to turn it off. What I’m saying is….” 

 

There’s another pause as she traces over the scar on his hand. “It doesn’t need to be a pride thing. You need to tell me, because I’m not going to notice otherwise.” 

 

“I like it when you-” It is still a pride thing. He can’t bring himself to finish the sentence despite the fact that the scene earlier was a small variation on one that had been carried out dozens of times before. 

 

“I know you like that,” she interrupts. “This though. I might need to know you want this.” 

 

“Okay,” he swallows the lump in his throat. It’s Pidge, it shouldn’t be this hard. “I think, next time I need my hands tied up.” 

 

“It’s like that huh?” Pidge raises an eyebrow. 

  
“Yeah,” Keith sighs. “I was doing some drills with Shiro earlier. The black lion...It came over my comm and called me Galra.” 


	2. Secret

Keith has this incredibly stupid idea that he somehow wants her more than she wants him. It’s a notion that she can only imagine he picked up out in the desert when they first met. She’d be burdened with laptops and mini-satellites, and he’d have little more than his bike to carry her on. It caused him to perceive a power imbalance in their relationship, when in reality there was none. 

 

It had to be perpetuated by his monthly heats. Keith was prideful to the point of self detriment, but most people, normal people would love to have their partner dote every spare moment on them for two or three days each month. Keith was not most or normal.

 

Their relationship had problems by the bucketful. 

 

Sex between them seemed to work best when one or both of them was extremely emotional and had their vulnerability forced out of them by some external force. That didn’t matter so much. There was always some kind of disaster happening that inevitably drove them together. 

 

There was the pressing issue that Keith never seemed to use his safeword which meant she had to be hypervigilant. Then of course, there was the parallel issue that, despite her being the one to insist that they have them in the first place, she never uses hers either. It doesn’t mean much, other than she has to sneak down to the medbay and sink into a pod before anyone notices the big red black galra claw marks that sear into her skin once a month. 

 

Then there was the nagging little problem that it had been almost three years since they made bombs out in his shack and devised a plan to unlock the hidden galra energy that had landed out in the desert. Three years since he threatened her and kissed her for the first time  in the same breath. Not once during that time had either of them said that they loved the other. 

 

For Pidge, it wasn’t a problem. People she loved, Matt and Dad were taken away. Or, if they weren’t taken away you did so wrong by them, you could never face them again even if you had the chance. People like mom.  Don’t get her wrong, she never thought that she’d still be seeing the guy that wrestled her to the ground out in the desert three years later.  By this point, Keith was as much her right arm as he was Voltron’s. 

 

She didn’t feel the need to vocalize that. It was supposed to be apparent in the way that she made new training modules for him weekly, or read out loud to him ancient Altean comedies from behind a partition while he bathed. She never found funny, but he always did. 

 

She sure as hell didn’t feel the need to pressure Keith to say anything she wasn’t prepared to say back. 

 

But really? She grits her teeth and and pushes back against the man above her. How could he think that for a moment she needs this less than him? 

 

“For fuck’s sake Keith I’m going to go numb if you keep this up.” 

 

“Not a chance Pidge,” and he bumps the toy he’s using up to a higher setting. 

 

Unlike the rest of her teammates’ Pidge has had the pleasure, and to some great extent misfortune of discovering her sexuality in the confines of space, and the duress of war. There are times she wonders if she’d have a crate of earth toys equivalent to the one she’s amassed over the past few years in space if she had a normal life. Would she be so into fucking her partner like she was a man? Would she be so averse to being fucked if she’d never left earth?

 

Right now is not one of those times. Keith has got the blue toy acquired from the Ghawdex system. Although it rests on the genitals, it reads vitals and brain waves, and stimulates different erogenous zones as if they were all equally sensitive. 

 

Since Keith’s upped the setting it feels like a giant and relentless mouth is sucking at her neck and tounging at her ear. “Quiznack! Keith Fuck.” She digs her nails into his shoulders as the man mouths absentmindedly at her hip. 

 

“Again?” Where Pidge likes to make him wait, he likes to force as many orgasms from her as possible. Where she would rather take her time, he has her naked and quivering in an instant. When he wants to come as quickly and as frequently as possible, she teases it out of him slowly. It’s addictive, and it has to be part of the reason they keep coming back to each other time and time again. 

 

“Fuck,” she repeats as her entire body tenses and then relaxes. 

 

“How many was that Pidge?” 

 

“Five.” 

 

“I think it was only four.” He shoots her a devilish grin as he fiddles with the control once more. Then, he tightens his grip on her hips and lets his tongue continue to wander: across her hip bones, in the crease of her thigh, across her lips and occasionally darting inside. It’s more teasing to go along with the quickly building and relentless orgasms. 

 

“You know it was five.” She says through gritted teeth. Her hands snap to the back of his head and her fingers thread tightly into his hair. 

 

Keith had set a lofty goal for her tonight. Seven with the help of the toy. She can feel the pull of another orgasm, this time originating from her nipples puffy and overstimulated already from Keith’s attention. 

 

She can’t say she wants it now. Not with her whole body so sensitive and over stimulated. 

 

She agreed to it at the time simply because when she came to him, she wanted to be so fucked out and exhausted she couldn’t hold a single thought in her head. Didn’t want to know where reality began and post sex fever dreams ended. 

 

But it was difficult when Keith demanded everything, and her body had already given her so much. 

 

“Still early,” he says as he dials back the controls so that it does little more than cause her whole body to hum. He slides up her body and gives her a sloppy open mouthed kiss. 

 

In the past few years he’s changed lions, gotten taller, gotten a better haircut, changed lions again, but some things simply do not change. Keith has, and will always be, a subpar kisser. That too, is addictive in its own way. 

 

“You don’t have to get to seven right away.” 

 

She melts against him at those words. She knows she could make it to seven, the toy would push her over the edge. But to not have them ripped from her like that...just have Keith hold her like this...It could be nice. 

 

She’d never ask for it directly. 

 

“But um..” he licks between her collarbones trying to hide the blush that dusts his cheeks. He always tries to play the big super in charge top when they start, and by the end it always crumbles. “I wanna be selfish.” 

 

To her, bottoming didn’t mean taking or giving, it meant she didn’t have to think about much of anything, other than counting to seven. He could do whatever he wanted to her so long as that was the case. 

 

“Can I fuck your thighs?” 

 

She can now see why he asked. It was close to a limit. 

 

She worries her lower lip in thought for a moment between her teeth. Undeniably it would feel good. Keith always makes it good for her. No matter what. Maybe, just maybe she could convey just how much she needed him without having to stumble over the words to do so. “If you have a condom um,” he should. Condoms in size B7 (humanoid size and shape) were harder to find out in space, but when he did he stocked up. “You can-” It’s stupid, how she can say the most filthy things in the universe to him when she’s in charge, but right now? She’s blushing as if she were a schoolgirl. “You can fuck me. Like...inside.” 

 

He cocks and eyebrow and gives her a quizzical look. “You sure?” They don’t do it like this often. Even with condoms the risk is pretty high. Not to mention, it’s really hard for her to come from that alone, and he usually prefers bottoming anyway. 

 

But the request alone lets her know that he wants something more tonight. She just so happens to be willing to entertain the idea because she does too. 

 

“Yeah. don’t make me explain it Keith. I want it.” 

 

“Okay.” It takes seconds for him to find a condom in his nightstand drawer and put it on. His hand rests for a moment on the toy that sits between her legs, but doesn’t remove it. His hands then drift lower.  

 

She lets out an undignified squeaking noise as a single digit prods at her entrance, then a second, and then finally both are inside. 

 

“Keith come on.” She never thought she’d be the one to tell him to stop teasing. 

 

This isn’t lost on him either as the concentrated line of his mouth shifts into a playful smile. “There’s no way you,” he flexes his fingers inside as if to make a point. “Are telling me to stop teasing.” 

 

But really, yes, she is. “I just really want it.” 

 

She could’ve said something sappy there. Want you. Need you. But the fact of the matter is, it’s not even about that anymore. She wants and she needs and that’s all there is to it. 

 

“You’re spoiled,” he says as he withdraws his fingers and dials up the sensitivity on the toy that rests on her clit. Immediately she’s lost in the pulsating sensation there. 

 

“Please,” she rolls her eyes. “I know you want it too.” 

 

He pats against the headboard of his bed. “Hands up here though,” as if he’s trying to reiterate that he’s the one calling the shots today. “Don’t move them until I tell you to.” 

 

She does her best to comply, but before she’s got both hands braced on the wall he’s thrusting into her in one fluid motion. It doesn’t matter. She’s so wrecked at this point that she’s more than ready. He’s nothing but heat and pressure within her and he hits something just right. She can do little more than grasp at the wall while she tightens around him. 

 

“Six,” he says as he keeps a firm bruising hold on either side of her hips. She needs it, doesn’t know if she’d still be upright and making good on her promise to not move her hands.  His slow shallow thrusts bring her through it, 

 

“I fucking  _ told  _ you Keith,” she rasps. 

 

“Nah, I’m giving you that one,” he smirks into her ear. “You need it because by the next one, you’re going to be a shaking mess.” 

 

He starts to thrust harder now. Sets a brutal pace for both of them, because as much as he likes to do it that way, it’s for her too. She can’t think about failure, or Voltron, or even how many times he’s made her come already because the world begins and ends.

 

She can feel one hand overlap hers holding her steady against the headboard. She can hear meaningless words tumble out of his mouth saying that she’s “good,” and “tight.” The word “close,” gets mentioned too, but in her stupor she can’t tell if he’s talking about her or him. 

 

His free hand rests on her shoulder and she can feel long purple black claws rake down her back. Her vision goes tunneled, then bright white like she’s had her photo taken with a camera with a real flash bulb. 

 

* * *

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks when the static finally clears from the air. 

 

He straddles her still naked form with his partially clothed one and dabs a pungent green gel across the abrasions on her back. 

 

“Huh?” She asks dreamily. This wasn’t part of the plan. She got to seven, her brain short circuited, and now she’s going to sprawl out on his bed until he pushes her over to make room. No thinking, no calculating, nothing. 

 

“Aw fuck these are really deep, sorry.” He says veering away from the difficult conversation that he initiated. 

 

She couldn’t see them, but she could tell these were nothing. Like glorified cat scratches. He had no idea. 

 

“Felt good,” she replies absent-mindedly. 

 

“Seriously though. Whatever it is you can tell me.” 

 

What is there to say? “I intercepted a particularly troubling signal today?” Or, “I use you to cope.” Or even, “I love you?” 

 

Instead she lets the tenseness hang between them in the air for awhile. Writhes around until he gets off of her and she can flop onto her back. “The front,” she orders. Because he’s gone and messed up her desolate mind. 

 

“I didn’t scratch you there,” he says gesturing to the salve in his hand. 

 

“Not yet.” 

  
How could that stupidly prideful brain of his ever think that he needed her more than she needed him? 


End file.
